


The Earth Shook the Devil's Hand

by Calex, thisissirius



Series: The Other Woman [2]
Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calex/pseuds/Calex, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark sometimes thinks about sending her an anonymous email;</p><p><i>I'm fucking your husband</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Earth Shook the Devil's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> _I can see you're somewhere far away  
>  Caught in another place  
> Where nothings going right  
> Shouldn't worry about  
> The worst that could be  
> When you're here beside me _  
> ~Today The Sun's On Us - Sophie Ellis-Bextor

Mark sometimes thinks about sending her an anonymous email;

 _I'm fucking your husband_

He doesn't want to intentionally hurt Wardo but he also doesn't like sharing him. He knows why, knows that Eduardo's always had trouble putting his father and the word no in the same sentence but Mark always assumed Wardo would think Mark worth more than the potential loss of a parent.

And maybe that's what Wardo thought about Mark and Facebook and doesn't that hurt, now. Now that Mark can see what his damage has wrought.

He wants to tell someone about the marks Eduardo leaves behind, stark enough against Mark's pale skin that he's half afraid everyone already knows, that he's suddenly started wearing his thoughts on his sleeve. But he hasn't and nobody says anything, not even Dustin for all that he's trying to figure out what's changed with Mark.

The other times, when he's not thinking about Wardo's wife, Mark's thinking about Wardo and what he would say if given the chance. The meetings they have, the time to fuck and remember and wonder if this is the last time, aren't enough but Mark doesn't know what else to do.

He can't code this problem into shape and he hates that more than anything. Wardo is so much more, has _become_ so much more.

Mark stares at the open e-mail box and rests his fingers on the keyboard.

* * *

Eduardo keeps explaining away his marks to his wife, the bruises and bites that decorate his skin from Mark's fingers, Mark's teeth. Each one proclaims-louder than words ever can-that he belongs to someone. That he belongs to _Mark_. The problem is, he loves those marks. The problem is that he wears them with pride. The problem is that he's deliberately careless, walking topless after one of his "business trips" with a fresh hickey behind his ear, between his collarbones. With thin scabs of scratches on his back, dark bruises colouring the hollow of his hips.

His wife looks at them with a dark, knowing expression, sometimes. He sees her biting her lips against asking, knowing she's afraid of the answer she knows she'll get.

He wants her to ask, wants her to point them out and say something because part of him wants to answer her with

 _I'm sleeping with someone else, I'm in love with someone else. I can't do this anymore._

But she doesn't, and he doesn't, and they tip toe around the marks on his body until it's literally an elephant in the room, always there and watching, waiting for the perfect moment. It's a moment that never arrives.

Eduardo is so _frustrated_. He's also guilty because she's a nice person from a good family and she doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to be married to a man who doesn't love her, who goes behind her back and sleeps with someone who's not her. Who sleeps with his back to her, the space between their tense bodies as wide as a gaping canyon, an open wound. He hates that he's still so fucking passive aggressive, even as he wants to shake her and demand why she doesn't just ask. Why she doesn't just open her goddamned mouth and accuse him of cheating on her, like he's so obviously doing.

He hates that he still has to rely on her to do what he's too afraid to do himself. He hates that she won't.

Mostly, all Eduardo does is count the days, hours, minutes, _seconds_ until he gets another text from Mark, another city in another country, with a date. Afraid, more than anything else, that the text will never come.

* * *

It's not like they can get away with this for long;

If Wardo's wife hasn't noticed anything by now, then Mark's secretary has. He doesn't tell her much and she doesn't ask. It's why Mark likes her. She keeps her mouth shut, does her work and doesn't bother him much. She notices, though. The amount of trips Mark takes out of the country to places that don't even make sense, not really. Using Facebook as an excuse only works so far but Mark doesn't really think about it too often; it's his company and he'll go where he likes, on his own time.

Still. Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he _didn't_ text Wardo. If he waited to see if Wardo would make the first move. Mark's lost him before. It would hurt to lose him again, hurt like that first time when Wardo had just taken off with no warning and no explanation, just an absence like there was before. Except this time he didn't even have the _i was your only friend_ to cling to, to hope on.

All he has are long-faded bruises and the memory of skin on skin, Wardo's breath on his face, the feel of teeth grazing the skin of his knee. It's all too sharp and vivid and _real_ and Mark knows he can't ever give it up, not really.

That doesn't mean he doesn't think about it sometimes.

People will ask questions like they always do. Mark doesn't worry, not much, but he does look at Dustin sometimes and wonder if he knows. He's not as stupid as he likes to make out. He sees everything, looks out for Mark even as it sets Mark on edge, makes him grind his teeth because he's not _a fucking baby, Dustin_ but Dustin remembers Mark right after Wardo left, both times, and Mark thinks about telling him, putting words to this thing he and Wardo have.

Would it matter? Would Wardo run again? Would he come back to Mark?

Mark hates this. It's not code he can fix. It's not a glitch in Facebook that can be corrected. It's Wardo and it's _them_ and Mark's not been able to put a name to it for so long that he's starting to wonder if it can hold up on its own.

* * *

"You need to stop fucking around with him."

Eduardo blinks at the phone, then brings it to the front to check that _yes, it's Dustin_ , even if the serious and hard tone is something he's not used to hearing from Dustin. It takes him another moment for the words to sink in, and when it does, he feels the blood drain from his face. He feels lightheaded, and like his knees have turned to water. His free hand fumbles, reaches out to wrap around the solid arm of his office chair. His mouth is dry, and there's a sharp buzzing in his ears and he can't do this here, not at work, not _ever_.

"How long have you known," is what he ends up saying, and he wants to hit his head against the wall, wants to throw his cell phone as far away from him as he can. But if Dustin is calling, then it's serious and Eduardo? Eduardo needs to hear it. He needs to hear how much he's fucking Mark up, now. _Again_ , his mind traitorously murmurs, and Eduardo feels sick, sick that he's hurt Mark twice now. He's pretty sure that he's now got Mark beat in terms of of asshole behaviour, no matter that Mark stabbed him in the back and shoved him out of a company that he helped build.

This is worse.

"I've always known, Wardo," Dustin replies, and his tone has softened. It doesn't calm Eduardo down, it just makes that fist in his gut feel like it's tripled in size, squeezing tighter than a vise around organs. "You two have never really been good at keeping secrets."

"Does everyone know?" It's another question that Eduardo doesn't want the answer to, but this is important. He needs to know. He needs to know everything. Maybe he's hoping that it'll be a big enough reality check that he'll finally come up with a more conclusive solution that what he has going on right now. Maybe he needs that extra push - to divorce his wife or break up with Mark, he doesn't know. But at least it'll be _something_ , something more than this current stasis, this current cycle of hurt and loneliness and guilt.

"Enough do," Dustin says, confirming his fears and Eduardo closes his eyes, covers his face and wants to scream. Instead he thanks Dustin quietly and hangs up. He gets his assistant to clear his schedule for the day and leaves early. He needs the extra time.

He needs to come to a decision.

* * *

Facebook is a bitch.

Mark has it open while he works. It's a thing he does when he's coding because it helps to see what he's creating, what he _has_ created. It helps _sometimes._ Today it's open on Wardo's page and Mark knows he should shut it, he really should because there's only so many times that he can stare at Wardo and _her_ before he goes crazy. His fingers itch where they hover over the keyboard and it would be so easy to hack in, to change the picture into something else, to take Wardo's little secret away forever.

Except. Except he's become the little secret. He's Wardo's other woman and Mark feels like he's trying to claw outside of his own skin. He doesn't understand, not any of it. He just wants Wardo and he's always known that that means he has to be careful sometimes, has to give Wardo everything he wants because he's left once, twice and Mark doesn't know if he can do this a third time.

Dustin knows.

It's pity and it's sadness and it's anger on his behalf but Mark doesn't need it or want it. He's not a damsel in distress. He's not pathetic and he doesn't _need_ Wardo to be happy. He has Facebook and this life and everything he needs. He doesn't-

 _it feels good when Wardo looks at him, sweat-slicked hair falling into his eyes as he reaches up for Mark, fingers digging in his shoulders and he feels like all the breath in his body is escaping because Wardo's looking at him through big eyes wide and brown and happy and there's something tight in Mark's chest and he doesn't know how he can live without this and without Wardo and_

\- need Wardo.

Mark closes Facebook and his laptop. He calls Dustin.

"Mark."

He sounds tired and Mark realises that it's three in the morning. He stares down at his closed laptop and thinks of Wardo on the edges of sleep, head turned into Mark's shoulder and a soft smile on his face, the smile he keeps just for Mark.

"I'm going to Singapore."

"Mark. Are you sure?"

Mark nods and then, "Yeah. I'll be gone a few days. Can you-"

"Is this the last time?" Dustin sounds firm, angry and Mark doesn't know why.

"Yeah," he breathes. He doesn't want to be but he has to stop this. He has to tell Eduardo that this is it, the end because he can't do this anymore. He's been an asshole, probably still is one, he doesn't know but he never did this to Eduardo. He never did this. _He never did this._

* * *

This time, Dustin just sends him a text:

>   
> _Heads up, Mark's on the way to Singapore_   
> 

Dustin doesn't have to say anything else for Eduardo to read the unwritten words loud and clear: _for the last time_. Eduardo's becoming just as adept at reading between the lines as he is at _saying_ things between the lines. He's sitting on his bed, in his hideously expensive house

\- _he never wanted a house, was happy with an apartment because property in Singapore is ridiculously expensive and a house? A house is just_ wasteful _, here_ -

staring at his phone for long moments. He finally stirs when he realises that daylight is fading. The bedroom is almost pitch black, but this is Singapore, and so it's illuminated by the millions of lights outside. He hears the sound of traffic from the streets below and imagine it's like the sound of his blood, racing. He wonders abruptly when Mark will arrive. No doubt Dustin left it to the very last minute to let him know. He wonders where Mark will be staying.

That's something he can find out easily enough.

He calls up his personal assistant, and she picks up after only three rings. He glances at his watch: it's seven, and she's probably still at the office. He kind of feels bad but he knows she relishes the overtime pay.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Saverin?" she asks. Her accent is a strange mix of Singaporean and British, a result of her UK university education. He's always found it soothing. It calms him down, now.

"Can you find out what hotel Mark Zuckerberg has reserved? It'll be either for tonight or tomorrow."

If she's surprised, she doesn't say anything. She takes his request in stride. Then again, she probably knows everything. She always seems to. It is, after all, her job. It's what Eduardo pays her for. She's ruthlessly efficient, and more and more, Eduardo feels like he needs that, needs her iron hand keeping him in line as he frays at the edges and loses more of himself.

"Would you like his room number as well?" she asks, and he hears the tap of her keyboard as she starts sending off emails. It's a comforting sound, something he's grown to associate with Mark. With _home_. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the coming headache he already feels forming.

"That'll be great. Thanks, Karen."

"No problem, Mr. Saverin. I'll text you the details as soon as I have them."

Eduardo ends the call and leans back on his elbows, staring up at his dark ceiling. He feels like he hasn't moved in days, but it's only been hours. Hours where he's spent the time looking up at his ceiling, and seeing nothing but Mark, Mark, _Mark_. He feels like he's done nothing but thinking of Mark since whatever it is between them had started, more than when he ever had while they were both in Harvard and he was so innocently, naively _happy_ just spending time with Mark.

 _In the open, in the sunshine, without secrets to hide_.

Now they have nothing but secrets, nothing but hurried, desperate nights. They do nothing but chase shadows and pretend that everything is alright, everything is fine. They both pretend like they're not twisted, not broken in some way. They both pretend that they don't need to be fixed, when nothing could be further than the truth. They're so deeply damaged that Eduardo doesn't know if they'll ever be able to escape, doesn't know if they'll ever be able to just simply be. Happy.

His phone buzzes in his hand and he looks at the text Karen has sent him:

 _Mr. Saverin, I can't seem to find any records of Mr. Zuckerberg's reservation. Perhaps you should check the date of his arrival?_

That's it, then. Eduardo sighs and closes the text without bothering to answer. There's no point. Mark wasn't planning on staying. Mark probably never intended to stay. It's probably for the best, if he's planning on ending... this. Whatever it is. Eduardo has no room to protest, no right to try and stop him, to make him change his mind. Eduardo has finally realised how much he's fucked Mark up, and it's an ache in his heart that won't go away.

He rubs his face tiredly, feels the rough bristles of his stubble sharp against his skin. He needs to shave, and he's sure that he probably needs a shower. He hasn't turned on the air conditioner, and he feels uncomfortably mussed and sticky. Stale. He can't summon the energy to move, though, so he lets himself fall back onto his back, in the middle of his too-wide bed. Almost immediately, he curls up. He's still cold, colder than Singapore asks for. Colder than he has any right to be in 100 degree weather.

He falls asleep in his wrinkled suit, clutching at his phone. He doesn't realise that he's got Mark's photo up on his screen.

* * *

Eduardo wakes up to the shrill sound of his doorbell. He blinks sleep encrusted eyes clear, head fuzzy and heavy with fatigue. His mouth feels horrible, fuzzy and stale and like something had died in there. He traces his tongue over his teeth, swallowing to clear his mouth. He grimaces at the taste, and at the fact that it doesn't work. The bell rings again, reminding him why he got up in the first place. His whole body protests when he pushes himself up, forces himself to walk towards his front door. His muscles ache, his limbs feel over heavy. Eduardo just wants to go back to sleep, even though he feels that he's done nothing but sleep for the past week. Sleep and think, think and sleep, until nothing is clear, everything has blurred.

 _Nothing makes sense_

The words echo in his head as he pulls open his door. He grips the frame, hard, staring at the person looking up at him with a solemn, almost broken expression on his face. He did that, _him_. He's not sure why it surprises him - Mark's hurt and Mark's presence - when he wasn't surprised when Mark tracked him down after his wedding. He'd known Mark will be in Singapore, coming for him. Dustin had warned him.

He's still not prepared.

"Mark," he says, voice a broken croak and he winces. Clears his throat. Mark's expression has shifted to shock as he takes in Eduardo's appearance, and Eduardo almost flinches but holds still, lets him take in everything. Mark deserves at least that. Eduardo feels that he will give Mark anything, everything that he asks for. It's the least he can do.

"Eduardo," Mark says, and Eduardo almost flinches again. _Eduardo_ , not _Wardo_ as Mark has reverted to calling him once again, since they started sleeping together. _Eduardo_. He's distancing himself already, and even though Eduardo's prepared himself, it still rips through him. The pain is shocking and bright. "You look like hell."

Eduardo has to laugh at that, no matter how rusty the sound. Mark has never known how to pay lip service. It's the one thing Eduardo can rely on from him, from the very beginning. That hasn't changed. He runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, self consciously trying to smooth down strands that are sticking up. He doesn't want this to happen when he looks bad enough for Mark to feel sorry for him. He has his pride, too. Eduardo steps back, let's Mark through the door, and feels a wave of déjà vu crash through him. It's too much like the past and it hurts, hurts more than he can stand.

"You didn't check into a hotel," Eduardo says, and Mark falters. A million expressions cross his face, too face for Eduardo to catch. He's not in any condition to do so, anyway. He's still tired, dazed with hurt. Inevitability hangs on his shoulders heavily, and his stomach roils. He looks away before he can see Mark's face settle into neutral once again. He might have to listen to Mark end their relationship, but he doesn't have to look at him while he's doing it. Eduardo doesn't think he can, anyway.

"I wasn't planning on staying," Mark says, finally, tone quiet and even. Eduardo knows him well enough to detect the faint tremble under the words. It scratches at wounds still bleeding.

"Yeah," Eduardo admits. "I know."

The silence is uncomfortable, heavy and charged, and Eduardo doesn't know what he could do. He wants to rail against what's going to happen, what _is_ happening. He wants to say a million things he knows he can never voice.

 _I want you. I need you. I miss you. I love you._

 _Don't leave me. Don't let me go. Don't end this._

He keeps his mouth firmly shut, staring resolutely at the ground. His hands are shaking, and he curls them into fists, digs his nails into his palm. The sting is sharp, distracts him enough so he can take a breath, another. It's enough to get him through listening to Mark, he hopes.

"She's not back, yet?" Mark asks, abruptly. Eduardo looks up at that, mouth curving ironically as he looks around his living room. It's too wide, empty, too big now with things obviously missing from its place.

"No." Eduardo takes a breath, steels his nerves. "No, she's back in São Paulo."

"São Paulo?" Mark parrots, and his frowning, brows creased in confusion. "What's she doing in São Paulo?"

"Spending time with her family, I guess." Eduardo shrugs helplessly, watching Mark's face becoming closed off again. He watches carefully, now. Wants to know how Mark will take the news. What he will do. He wonders if it will make a difference. He knows better than to hope. "Waiting for the divorce papers to be served."

Mark's indrawn breath is loud in the silence. His eyes are huge, shocked, and he's staring at Eduardo like he can't believe what he's just heard. Eduardo keeps his eyes on Mark's for as long as he can stand, but finally looks back at his hands. Eduardo knows he isn't weak, but Mark has always had the ability to make him feel powerless.

The next thing he knows, Mark's clutching at his hands. He's kneeling between Eduardo's legs and looking up at him with a face that is sheet white. His grip is painfully tight, but Eduardo just turns their hands so he can lace their fingers together. He'll welcome anything, as long as it comes from Mark. His mouth is tight, and this close, Eduardo can see how his freckles are standing out in stark relief. Mark has always been pale, but now he's almost ashen.

"How long?" he asks, low. Eduardo can't read his tone. He just sighs and grip's Mark's hands tighter before letting him go. Or he tries to, anyway, but Mark doesn't let him get far. He grips Eduardo's wrists instead, halting his movements. Traps Eduardo with his hands and his eyes and his expectations. Eduardo crumbles.

"A week," he whispers. "She left last nine days ago."

"You didn't tell me," Mark says, voice shaking. "Wardo, _you didn't tell me_."

"I didn't know how."

"Wardo - " Mark starts, then he bites off his words. He stares hard at Eduardo, hands flexing around Eduardo's wrists. They feel like warm manacles, chaining them together, and Eduardo never wants him to let go. "Why? Why are you divorcing her?"

Eduardo looks at him desperately, feels his heart shattering and he knows it's in his eyes. Mark is unmoveable, stronger now than he was when he arrived. More solid. Eduardo takes a breath, but he can't look at Mark right now. He _can't_.

" _Because I love you_ ," he says, the words feeling like they're ripping out of him. Shredding him raw and open for Mark. "Because I love _you_ , not her, and never anyone else. Not since we were nineteen years old, Mark. I never stopped, I never knew how."

" _Wardo_ ," Mark breathes, and he lets Eduardo's wrists go and for a moment Eduardo's terrified that this is it, that Mark will get up and leave and a broken noise leaves him. Mark's expression is crushed and terrified and apologetic and -

Mark's hands, warm and unsteady, cupping his face.

Mark's lips, warm and trembling, pressing against his.

Mark's tongue, desperate and hungry, pushing into his mouth.

Eduardo groans and grips Mark's shoulders, yanking him up. They fall over on the couch, Mark on top of Eduardo, but their mouths don't part. They're kissing desperately, now, everything they've ever felt and more poured into a kiss filled with sharp, clumsy teeth and soothing tongues and Eduardo moans into Mark's mouth, loving the solid press of him over his body. When they part, it's because air becomes an issue. They stay with Mark laying over Eduardo, their foreheads pressed together. Eduardo's hands are under Mark's hoodie, feeling hot skin and he memorises the feel of it under his fingertips. He wants to map over Mark's body again, and again, wants to burn the image into his eyes so that it's the last thing he sees when he sleeps, and the first when he wakes. His heart constricts and he presses desperate kisses over Mark's cheeks, his forehead, his chin, the tip of his nose. Everywhere he can reach.

"I love you," he says again, desperately.

"I know."

"Don't leave me."

"I won't," Mark promises, cupping Eduardo's chin and tipping his head back so Eduardo can meet Mark's serious eyes. "Wardo, never again, okay? _Never again_."

"I promise," Eduardo whispers, and Mark smiles, and as cheesy as it sounds, it's like watching day break over a night sky. Eduardo finally feels like he can breathe again. He doesn't think he'll have that problem anymore.

* * *

"Wardo?" Mark says, brushing his thumb over Eduardo's lower lip. It's hours later, and the night is now bleeding into day, and he's sweaty and out of breath, arms wrapped around Mark's waist, reluctant to let him go. But Eduardo finally feels like he's _awake_ , despite the fact that he hasn't had a decent night's sleep for nine days. Eduardo grins, so happy and wide that his cheeks hurt. It's a pain he embraces. "I love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> So Siri started this by writing a drabble for my story, [don't let your shadow spoil the view](http://archiveofourown.org/works/151107) (which I posted just a few hours ago, oh god), and I wrote a reply drabble, then she wrote another and, well, we ended up with a complete sequel. So enjoy! ♥


End file.
